was there, she said. I'd just planted my bed in the garden
here. Mrs. Clapp gave me six pansies, and it was going to be so pretty.
Now I've got to--leave--'em." Her voice died away into sobs.

"Tut, tut!" said the Bishop. "The customs of a church cannot be set
aside to accommodate a child's flower-bed. You'll find other things to
please you in Redding, Mistress Mary. Come, come, dry your eyes. Your
father's daughter should not set an example like this."

"No, sir," gulped Mary, mortified at this reproof from the Bishop, who
was an important person, and much looked up to. She did her best to stop
crying, but it was hard work. When they reached home, the sight of the
pansies perking their yellow and purple faces up to meet her, renewed
her grief. There was her mignonette seed not yet sprouted. If she had
known that they were going away, she would not have planted any. There,
worst of all, was the corner where she had planned such a nice surprise
for her mother,--"A. F." in green parsley letters. A. F. stood for Anne
Forcythe. Now, mother would never see the letters or know any thing
about it. Oh dear, oh dear!

Mrs. Forcythe's own disappointment was great, for they had all made sure
that they should stay. But, like a true mother, she put her share of the
grief aside, and thought only of comforting Mary.

"Don't feel so badly, dear," she said. "Recollect, you'll have Papa
still, and me and Frank and little Peter. We'll manage to be happy
somehow. Redding isn't half so disagreeable as you think."

"Yes, it is. Tilly said so. I was going to have radishes and a
rose-bush," replied Mary tearfully. "There's a robin just building in
the elm-tree now. There won't be any trees in Redding; only horrid hard
cobble-stones."

"We must hope for the best," said Mrs. Forcythe, who did not enjoy the
idea of the cobble-stones any more than Mary did.

"Only ten days more at Valley Hill," was the first thought that came
into Mary's mind the next morning. She went downstairs cross and out of
spirits. Her mother was laying sheets and table-cloths in a trunk. The
books were gone from the little book-shelf; every thing had already
begun to look unsettled and uncomfortable.

"I shall depend on you to take care of little Peter," said Mrs.
Forcythe. "We shall all have to work hard if we are to get off next
Monday week."

Mary gave an impatient shrug with her shoulders. She loved little Peter,
but it seemed an injury just then to have to